


Enough Space

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universes, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:58:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's Blair, and the jungle and Jim - and a whole lotta space between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough Space

## Enough Space

by Scala

Messers Petfly disclaim any responsibility for this story. This one was all *my* fault.

Well, they say we all have a SenToo story in us ? I think this is mine.   
Canon up to S2P2, then we go off on our own for a little wander.   
Thanks to Kaye for the beta and Bunny for stealing my alarm clock. That cost me ten bucks, damnit!   


Warning: Never assume that the story you *think* you?re going to write, is the same as one the story *makes* you write. 

* * *

Part One 

A greasy layer of sweat covered Blair's whole body, like justice, dogging his every move. Even when he stood still, the constant creaking of the jungle filled his hearing, twitching and aching, moving as though nothing important had happened here, as though nothing ever would. The sweat on his skin made his clothes stick to him, itching him, weighing down on him, reminding him that not even the cold lasted forever. 

Heavier, human movement shifted behind him, but he didn't need to turn and look. The police were moving Alex out, carrying her stretcher to a waiting jeep. Taking her way beyond any point where Blair could help her. Each step they took echoed his failure. 

The man before him didn't move. He just sat with his back to Blair, as though he couldn't bear to face him, as though Blair's words of comfort, of reassurance meant nothing. That his place here was as no more than as a hostage, or encumbrance. 

'Jim?' Blair tried again, not raising his voice, not pushing any more. He only knew that he needed to see Jim's eyes, needed to do that so he could be sure his friend was okay. They were friends, they were supposed to look out for each other. Jim had been drugged, spent time in the pool, gone deep within himself, battled with the bitch from hell. Now he was sitting there, ignoring everything else going on around him. Was this the first sign of a meltdown like Alex's? 

'Jim, are you okay?' 

'I'm fine, Sandburg.' The response was quiet, but edged with annoyance at having been asked, that Blair wanted to know. There was enough irritation in there for Blair to take a step back, to turn away, to shy away from where the police and Simon and Megan and the others were gathering. 

He turned into the jungle, his legs reaching high to clear the undergrowth. Exhaustion rattled through him, but he wasn't going far. He just needed to see. With his own eyes. 

The first sign of stone set his heart beating hard again, like it had before. Then he stepped around the wall and halted at the edge of the clearing. Before him stood the temple, almost buried beneath centuries of jungle growth. Even so, the lines, the square shapes, the overbearing presence of it filled his vision. 

The Temple of the Sentinels. 

His Holy Grail. 

Patience, the Temple seemed to whisper to him. For centuries, it had stood here, a testament to the faith of a people long dead, a ward against corruption, a safeguard for those born with special gifts offering them a path they could take to the next level. Patience, it seemed to say. He should expect no more than what is given freely, a philosophy his mother had extolled from his childhood. 

Well, he had patience by the boatload. In fact, he'd often impressed himself by how patient he'd been. Still, couldn't there be limits? 

How long would it take? What would he have to do? What _more_ would he have to do? And would it, in the end, make any difference? Would he push himself past his limits, bend every rule ever written, make every excuse possible, and still end up here with nothing? Less than nothing? Where did dying rate on that scale? 

Or shared visions. 

With aching slowness, Blair lifted his head and gazed at the full glory of the Temple of the Sentinels - and in that second, he was gifted with a moment's miracle. For a heartbeat, his vision cleared, swept clean of cobwebs and expectations, of silence and lies. And he _knew_. 

By its very nature, there _could_ be no limit to patience. Only people had limitations. And Blair was standing there, looking up at his. 

With a soft sigh, he let go the breath he felt he'd been holding all day. With it, went coils of tension that had wrapped themselves around his stomach. It was safe now. At last, there was no more uncertainty. The only way through this was out the other side. All he needed to do was take that first step. 

* * *

Megan tossed her pack into the back of the jeep and glanced around for the others. Simon was still making plans with the police chief, but they were all about ready to go. Of Jim and Blair there was no sign, though that was not necessarily a bad thing. There was obviously a lot of ground those two needed to make up. The friendship had taken something of a battering, and she was not one to intrude. 

But when Simon called her and asked where they were, she had no choice but to go looking. Her search took her back to the temple. She came to a halt when she saw Blair. She glanced around looking for Jim, but he wasn't to be seen. Instead, Blair stood before the temple, looking up at it, his eyes almost glazed over, but his expression one of the most divine peace. 

Surprised, she murmured, 'Sandy? We're ready to go. Are you coming?' 

He didn't even blink. Frowning, she took a step closer, reaching out to touch his arm. 'Sandy? Are you okay?' 

Several long seconds drifted by, increasing her unease, until abruptly, he took in a deep breath. He shook his head a little, blinked twice, then turned to her with a smile she barely recognized, though it did nothing to hide the exhaustion. 'I'm fine, Megan. Let's go.' With that, he pulled away from her and strode into the jungle, heading for the others, leaving her far behind. 

With everything that had happened, she could hardly consider his behaviour weird, but that didn't stop her. 

And she still had to find Jim. 

* * *

The heat was so familiar, so welcome. Even the constant prickle of insects against his skin, even the rolling perspiration that covered every inch of him was welcome. Even though this wasn't his jungle, wasn't his home, the smell was so thick, so heavy, so real. He could almost imagine the last nine years had never happened, that he was back in Chopec territory, on his own, bewildered by senses he could neither control nor understand. 

'Jim?' 

He lurched to his feet. It must be time to leave, surely. He turned to find Megan coming towards him, the heat making her hair stick against her face. She flashed him an encouraging smile and he gave her one in return. He owed her. 

'Ready to go?' She asked. 

'Sure. Er ... where's Sandburg?' 

'Gone already. Didn't you see him?' 

'Uh, no.' Jim's smile tilted slightly, but he couldn't address it right now, and certainly not with Megan. He wasn't entirely sure he could address it with Blair. But there would be time for that later, when they got home, when they were rested and ready for what needed to be said. By then, he might just have gathered together the necessary courage. 'Let's go.' 

He followed Megan through the jungle, not giving the Temple one last look. He'd seen more of it than he'd thought possible, more than he'd really wanted. And if it hadn't been for Alex, perhaps he too would have seen too much. How would he ever know? 

He reached the jeeps to find the first group moving off, bumping over the jungle track, heading for civilization. It was only as he came to a halt that he realized Blair was seated in the back of one of those jeeps. He blinked for a moment, then shook his head, climbing into the nearest seat he found and avoiding the gazes of both Connor and Simon. 

* * *

The airport was busy when they finally got in. Jim's head wouldn't stop spinning with the noise from the plane's engines, and fatigue kept pushing at him like a nagging toddler hyperactive on sugar. He'd caught Blair looking at him, and gave him an answering shrug a few times, but it was impossible to talk. Or rather, more impossible than usual. 

Both Connor and Simon had left their cars at the airport, so transport back to Cascade wasn't difficult. But Jim had his bags in Simon's trunk before he realised Sandburg wasn't behind him. With Simon already waiting impatiently, it took Jim a moment to find Sandburg in the car park and with a word to Simon, Jim took off at a jog, heading for Megan's car. 

'Sandburg?' he called as Blair was about to climb in beside her. 'Where are you going?' 

Blair looked up, glanced back towards Simon's car and shrugged. 'Back to Cascade.' 

'What about ...' The words trailed off. His own words, filling him up, choking him. Blair's boxes packed with his own hands, the loft empty of everything, even friendship. A gulf between them so swamped with danger it was palpable. 

Blair stared at him a moment, murmured something to Connor then took Jim's arm and steered him away so they could talk in private. 

'Jim, I think we should, um, give ourselves a little space, you know?' 

'Space?' Jim swallowed hard. Dark rings surrounded Blair's eyes, his face was almost white with exhaustion. It didn't require sentinel hearing to notice how his breathing wasn't quite right, that there was a small tremor in his hand and that he was having difficulty keeping himself upright. 'What kind of space?' 

'Well, where maybe we don't see each other for a little while. I just think it would be for the best, that's all.' 

Jim couldn't look at him for a moment, and glanced away, feeling his jaw clench against things he couldn't control. _More_ things he couldn't control. Why had he ever thought he could? Why had he maintained that illusion for so many years, when in truth, he was just as often swept away by events as everyone else? 

Space. Sandburg wanted space - and all Jim wanted was for them to ... get back to where it was good. Before that ... before Alex. Before the intro, when there was a friendship they could both rely on. Back to where he wasn't so fucking terrified of himself. 

'But are you going to come home?' The words were out before he could stop them, and he had no more control over them than he had over the faintly whining tone to them. 

Blair simply shoved his hands into his pockets and gave a shrug. 'I'll let you know where I'm staying. Don't worry, I'm not running out on you.' 

'I didn't think you were,' Jim shot back, again, his voice betraying both his own exhaustion, and yes, his fear that that was exactly what Blair was doing. He hated his hesitation, hated his fear, hated knowing that this - all of this - was being taken out of his hands and there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

'Jim, I gotta go. Megan wants to get home and I think we all need some rest. I'll call you, okay?' 

Jim turned back to him then, sure it was his imagination that caught the faint glint of moisture in his friend's eyes. Then the moment was gone and Blair was heading back to Megan's car, a small wave his only farewell. 

Moments after they drove away, Simon's car pulled up next to him. 'Get in, Jim. We can sort this out later.' 

* * *

It took a week for Blair to get to the point where he could call Jim without hyperventilating. Okay, so he'd had to down two beers to reach that point, but at least he got there eventually. 

He sat on the couch, legs crossed, the phone in his lap, some calming music on the stereo. He knew if he left it too late in the evening, then Jim would either be asleep, or worse, be sitting up thinking about Blair and turning the whole thing into some late-night confession or something equally raw and unprepared. 

The only thing he was certain of was that this was going to be hard. Very hard. 

He dialed, and Jim answered on the second ring, confirming his suspicion that Jim had been waiting all week for him to call. If only he hadn't. 

'Jim?' 

'Sandburg! I was ready to put out an APB on you. Where are you?' 

'You could have asked Megan. She dropped me here.' 

There was a pause that made Blair bite his tongue, then Jim continued, swallowing the reproach in Blair's words. 'Where are you?' he asked more gently. 

'A TA friend of mine has just left to do a study on the hill tribes in Thailand. Needed somebody to house-sit. I volunteered. It's a really nice house. Couple of bedrooms and a great garden out back. I have to remember to water it every day, but hey, with Cascade's rain record, I figure it shouldn't be too hard to keep it alive.' 

'Well,' Jim spoke slowly, carefully, as though he was afraid he would scare Blair away. The very thought only tightened the tension coiling in Blair's stomach. 'You've always been good with plants. Helping them grow, I mean.' 

'Yeah, well,' Blair paused. 'How's things with you? Any, um, fallout from that stuff you took?' 

'No, I'm, you know, fine. What about you? Feeling better?' Blair could almost hear the cringe in Jim's voice at the simplicity of the question. 

Yeah, okay for a dead person. 

That thought repeated in Blair's head three times before he could shut it up and form a reply. 'Yeah, much better, thanks. Had a lot of sleep.' 

'And you're eating?' 

'Of course. Two algae shakes a day, if you must know.' He pushed out the bait and was woefully relieved when Jim chose to take it. 

'So the next time I see you, you'll have green skin, right?' 

'Hey, I had Wonderburger yesterday.' 

'Liar.' 

Blair had to laugh at little at that, and Jim laughed a little with him. 'Listen, have you got a pen?' 

'Sure.' 

Jim kept silent as Blair gave him his new address and phone number. Done, he spoke again, quietly. 'Sandburg, we need to talk, don't we?' 

Raw as the question was, Blair couldn't reply for a moment. Then he said, 'Do we?' 

'What do you mean?' There was fear in that tone, and hesitation, and ... something else Blair couldn't define. 

'I'm just not sure we haven't already said everything we need to say, Jim.' 

'Damnit, Sandburg,' Jim snapped, his voice rough and harsh. 'If _you_ don't understand what happened out there, how the hell can I? How can you expect me to-' 

'I don't expect anything from you, Jim. I thought that much at least was clear.' Blair had to swallow hard, because his throat had closed up and his eyes were stinging. He had to finish this, now. 'Just give it some time, okay? You'll feel different, I'll feel different. Space, you know?' 

'Space?' Jim grunted, 'Sure, space.' And just like that, Jim was defeated. It had never taken more than that and the knowledge of that alone was enough to make tears spill out of Blair's eyes and fall down his cheeks. 

'I gotta go, Jim. I'm back at work tomorrow. Call me if you have any problems, okay?' 

There was such a long pause at this, Blair began to wonder if Jim had zoned. Then, 'Sure. Take care, Sandburg.' 

'You, too, Jim.' 

Blair cut the connection, tossed the phone onto the coffee table, grabbed a cushion and buried his face in it. 

* * *

'Ellison, my office.' 

Jim saved the file he was working on, got up and headed into Simon's office. 

'Close the door, Jim. Take a seat.' 

As Jim sat, Simon turned a page in the file before him. 'I'm still not convinced this spate of burglaries is connected to that drug shipment. Are you sure your snitch knows what he's talking about?' 

'I've checked with him twice. He's positive. If we set up surveillance tonight, we can get them on tape.' 

'The Feds won't move without at least that much evidence.' 

'We'll get it for them, don't worry.' 

'Okay, fine. Go ahead. See me first thing in the morning with what you've got.' Simon closed the file and handed it back across the desk. As Jim leaned forward to collect it, ready to go, Simon sat back, steepled his fingers together and asked the question Jim had been dreading. 'So Sandburg's gone, has he?' 

'Gone?' Jim took the file and stood, ready with his reaction if nothing else. 'No, he's just house-sitting for a friend.' 

'How is he now?' 

'Much better. He's been back at work the last two weeks, he's put on a little weight and his lungs have cleared up. He's doing fine.' 

'Uh huh. Well, that's good to hear. I'm surprised he hasn't been in at all. We'd all like to make sure he's okay. People have been asking about him. When did you last see him?' 

'A couple of days ago,' Jim lied. He hadn't seen Sandburg since the airport, hadn't spoken to him except for that one awful phone call - and it seemed more and more likely as each day went by, that unless something went horribly wrong with his senses, he would never see his friend again. 

'I guess dying like that probably put a dent in his enthusiasm for police work, huh?' Simon sighed and jerked his hand, an unspoken order for Jim to sit down again. Jim gave a mental groan as Simon continued. 'Listen, I for one wouldn't deny what an asset Sandburg's been to both you and this department. We would never have caught Barnes if it hadn't been for him - without even mentioning his help over the last three years.' 

Jim knew it was coming, knew he had to say it. 'But?' 

Simon sighed again, obviously unhappy with what he was about to say. 'I'm copping a lot of flack over the whole incident. About why a civilian was involved in the first place, the fact that he nearly got killed as a result. Questions are being asked, Jim, and I don't really have answers for them. How can I tell them about one sentinel without also telling them about you? How can I explain Sandburg's involvement, his contribution, without outing you? The whole thing sounds like so much hokey, I have trouble believing it myself - and _I've_ seen you in action.' 

Jim had never told Simon about the visions he'd had in the Temple, about Blair and Alex, about light and dark. There were parts of his own mind that still rebelled against the whole bizarre reality. He could only give Simon a shrug. 

'Look, maybe it's time for you to cut him loose. I know,' Simon held up a hand to forestall whatever objections Jim might - though didn't - put forth, 'I suggested it three years ago, and yes, I didn't really understand then how and why you needed him for this Sentinel stuff. But Jim, the kid nearly died. Hell, he _did_ die. That's not something I want to go through again. He puts every spare hour he has into this place, and not just for you, Jim. He does all this without any pay - and yes, I've raked the budget in the hope that I can give him something, but it just won't work. Now, this latest... adventure aside, your senses have been pretty good for a while now, haven't they.' 

'Yes,' Jim murmured, without a shred of defense in him. 

'Sandburg already said he had enough material for his dissertation, didn't he?' 

'Yep.' 

'And if you need any special help, he's still around, isn't he?' 

'Sure.' 

'Jim, I've been _ordered_ pull his credentials. I don't want to see the kid go and if you can give me a reason, _any_ reason to fight this, I will. I can't risk his life again without it. But I need you to give me that reason. Can you?' Simon asked this so softly, Jim had to look up. He could tell Simon didn't really want to do this - but that didn't stop him. As though he had no more control over this than Jim did. All just doing what they had to do. What they had learned to do. Following whatever they'd had programmed into them. Choice didn't come into it. 

Jim shook his head. 'No, I can't. I'll let him know.' 

'Tell him I said thanks of all his work. And he's welcome to come and visit any time. Next budget cycle I might even be able to get a little funding.' 

'For what?' 

'So we can get him in to consult when we need to. He's been an ... well, an invaluable asset, Jim. Just don't tell him I said that.' 

'No, of course not.' Jim nodded again, smiling a little with the old joke. His eyes went down to the file in his hand and he got to his feet. 'I'll get onto that surveillance team, then.' 

'Let me know how it goes.' 

End Part One 

* * *

Part Two 

Blair was on his knees, up to his elbows in soil and weeds when he heard the doorbell go. With a grunt, he got up, brushed as much dirt off his hands as he could and ran inside. Opening the door with two fingers, he grinned to find Megan waiting for him, a bottle of good Australian red wine in one hand, a deli package in the other. 

'I was just passing and thought I'd drop by.' 

'Come in!' Blair stepped back and ushered her inside. 'I'm out back, gardening. Let me take that, you can get some glasses. If I go into the kitchen I'll just spread mud everywhere.' 

Megan smirked and handed him her packages. He waited while she collected glasses, corkscrew, plates and knives and then they headed out to the small decking. 'Beautiful day.' 

'I couldn't resist getting my hands dirty. What else can you do on a day like this but be out in the sun?' 

Megan worked on the wine bottle while Blair washed his hands under the garden faucet. 'You're looking well. I'm glad to see that last bout of bronchitis didn't hit you so bad.' 

'Yeah, well I was lucky. I have a good doctor. He stomped on it real quick. After last time, I don't blame him.' 

'You _should_ have gone to hospital, Sandy, I don't care what you say.' 

'Hey, I got better didn't I?' 

'This was the third chest infection you've had since the fountain - and that was what, four months ago?' 

'Are you going to nag, or are we going to get drunk?' Blair grinned as he pulled up a chair opposite her, taking the glass she'd poured for him. 

'We'll need more than one bottle to get us drunk, if I remember what happened last time.' 

'You're doing better than me. I only remember the headache and a vague feeling of having left my tongue on a dirt road somewhere.' He took a mouthful and nodded. 'This is good. Have I had this one before?' 

'No, it's new. Well, not new exactly, but they've just started importing it here from the Adelaide Hills. It's been one of my favorites for years.' She unwrapped the bundle and spread it out on the table, revealing a hard, white goat's cheese, a wedge of pate and a loaf of French bread. Without pausing, she tore off some bread, spread it with cheese and handed it to him. 'Try this.' 

Flavors exploded in his mouth and he nodded enthusiastically. 'Mmmn, that's good. Greek, right?' 

'Turkish. I used it in a recipe last week and fell in love. I knew you'd like it.' 

She settled down munching on a piece of her own and surveyed the garden. 'The guys all say hi. You owe Joel an email - he wanted me to remind you.' 

'I'll get to it tonight. If I'm sober enough.' 

'Is Ellie still coming back next month?' 

'Nope. They got the extension on funding. They'll be gone another two months. After that, she's taking up a position in Paris at the Sorbonne.' 

Megan's eyes widened. 'The Sorbonne? Wow. Can't really pass up an opportunity like that can you?' 

'She'd be crazy if she did.' 

'So you won't have to find a place of your own for a while?' 

'I don't know. She's thinking of selling. To be honest, if she does, I think I might buy it.' 

Megan grinned, topping up his glass. 'Never thought I'd hear you say that.' 

Blair raised his eyebrows. 'Why?' 

'Come off it, Sandy! You're such a hippy at heart. I've met your mother. I'll bet she never did anything so middle-class as buy a house.' 

Blair couldn't deny that. 'I'm not my mother.' 

'No, thank god. Not that I don't like her - but you know one of her is enough for any world.' She took another mouthful of wine, her gaze steadily on him, a twinkle in her eyes. 'So, are you going to keep me in suspense until we finish the bottle?' 

'Suspense?' Blair asked innocently. 

'How did it go?' 

'What?' 

'The Defense, damn you!' She replied, laughing. 'How did you do? Were you nervous?' 

Blair grinned, laughter bubbling up from nowhere. 'Like you wouldn't believe. I couldn't eat last night, or this morning. I had to swallow pills to stop myself from throwing up every ten minutes. I had to get a taxi to the U because my hands were shaking so bad I couldn't risk driving. Man, I do _not_ want to ever go through that again.' 

'And what did they say?' 

'I knew they hated me the moment I walked in, but you know,' Blair mused, settling back. 'That actually helped. I figured, what can they do but deny me my doctorate? If they've already made up their minds to fail me, there's nothing I can do now to ruin it, is there.' 

'Ah, the 'nothing to lose' tactic. Good choice. And did they hate it?' 

'Honestly, yeah, I think they did in the beginning. And much as I hate to say it, I have Alex Barnes to thank for the fact that they didn't in the end. Being able to broaden my study with another Sentinel gave it the weight it needed.' 

'Have you heard yet?' 

Blair studied his wine for a moment, something inside him reaching an absolute stillness he'd missed over the last few months. 'Yeah, they called about an hour ago.' 

There was silence for a few seconds, then Megan was on her feet, swamping him with a hug. 'Damnit, Sandy, sometimes you can be such a ... a ...' 

Her laughter was infectious and he joined in, hugging her back. When she pulled away, her smile was blinding. 'Well, _Doctor_ Sandburg, it's so nice to meet you!' 

That made Blair laugh all over again. They picked up their glasses, toasted his new title and drank deep. As Megan topped them up, he headed inside. 'I keep my own private stock now, you know. My very own Australian wine cellar. How many do you think we'll need this time.' 

'Bring two for a start.' Was her delighted reply. 'Always happy to chalk up another convert to good Aussie plonk.' 

* * *

It was after dark by the time Blair poured Megan into a taxi and sent her home. He'd put a lot of thought into how he'd wanted to celebrate - or for that matter, commiserate - the Defense, but his choice couldn't have been better. Of the small group of people who'd known about the subject of his dissertation, Megan was the only left in his life, the only one who hadn't had some sort of investment in it, who could simply enjoy his success without reminding him of the price. His book would never be published, but then, he'd never expected it to be, even before he'd started writing it. No, he'd achieved what he'd set out to do, he now had what he'd wanted. He gave no thought at all to what that left him with. The time for regrets had passed, mourned for long ago, sitting up there on the wall inside the framed Certificate of Appreciation Simon had presented him with, to his extreme embarrassment. 

Blair headed back inside to clean up the mess. He managed to walk fairly straight, and didn't drop any of Ellie's glasses as he put them into the sink even if he did feel a bit fuzzy. He did remember to drink two large glasses of water - Megan's latest anti-hangover cure. The cheese and pate had long gone, and the lasagna he'd reheated had all been consumed. There was just the mess, dishes, paper packages, empty wine bottles - and his grand achievement, the doctorate. 

Normally, he would have left the dishes till morning, but he wasn't quite ready to go to bed yet. He needed to call Naomi, and the time difference in India meant he had to sit up late to catch her. He wasn't sure he'd stay awake, but he had to make the effort. He wanted to tell her. Needed to talk to her. Needed to hear her voice, to ... 

A sudden shaft of pain slid into him and he gasped, hanging on to the sink with both hands. He gulped in air, blinking rapidly, forcing the tears back, pushing himself to get back to that place where there wasn't any pain, there weren't any regrets and he would never look over his shoulder again. He had to find it because that was the only way he could live now. If he looked back, if he even so much as glanced, then he, then he ... 

The pain sank deep, then subsided before the onslaught of his determination. Another few deep breaths and it was gone, leaving behind it only the memory of his lapse of control. Perhaps he could leave off calling Naomi till tomorrow, once he'd had a little more space. 

He finished washing the dishes, dried up and put everything away. He took the bottles and trash out front for collection then remembered he hadn't picked up his mail yet. Leaning over the letterbox to pull it out, he realised he was being watched. A sliver of fear washed through him as he straightened and turned ready to run or fight, whichever he needed. 

'Jim!' 

'Sandburg,' Jim replied, coming a little closer. In the warm summer evening, he only had a shirt and jeans on, something tucked under his arm. He looked good. Happy, relaxed, unhurried. 'Or should I say, _Doctor_ Sandburg.' 

Blair bit his lip, urged his suddenly thumping heart to shut the fuck up, and offered something that might have been a smile a year ago. 'Um, yeah.' 

'It was today, wasn't it?' 

'Uh huh.' Blair knew he should say something else, but he hadn't seen or spoken to Jim for four months. What else was he to say? 'They don't know about you. I didn't use your name or anything.' 

'Good. That's good, Chief.' Jim gazed at him a moment, but it was hard to see his face clearly in the street lights. He saw Jim turn his head and glance up at the house. 'You gonna invite me in?' 

For a moment, Blair was seriously tempted to say no. But he refused to purely on the grounds that he couldn't bring himself to take the easy route. Not when Jim had made the effort to come. 

Not when Jim had made the effort to stay away. 

'Sure, come in.' Blair gestured, then led Jim up the path to the front door. As Jim came in behind him, he shut and locked it, purely out of habit. Jim said nothing, but instead, wandered into the living room, absently placing his package on the coffee table. 

He'd been feeling pleasantly drunk until Jim turned up. Now all effects of the alcohol had gone, and he missed them. Still, it wasn't like he didn't have a few bottles left. 

'I was just going to open a bottle of wine,' he began, heading busily for the kitchen. 'Would you like a glass?' 

'Thanks. This place is nice, Chief. I like the colours. Very you.' 

'Oh, well, I didn't paint it, but I did help choose them after Ellie bought the place. If you switch on that light there, you can see the garden through the window. It's the best part of the house.' 

Jim dutifully switched on the outside light and looked out for a while, giving Blair a moment to himself to get a bottle opened, get glasses, pour wine, get his terror under control. Normal stuff. 

'More suburban than I remember you being, Chief. It suits you.' Jim commented on his return. He took the glass offered and raised it in toast. 'Congratulations.' 

There was no smile on Jim's face, nothing in his eyes, only the warmth in his voice which set Blair on edge. It had been so damned long since he'd seen Jim, so long since he'd felt the warmth of friendship filter through Jim's voice. It felt so good to see his familiar face, be able to look at it without trying to conjure it up from memory. He couldn't find a single word to say and so they stood there, holding their glasses, just looking at each other, until Jim, more in control, clinked his glass against Blair's and took a sip. 

As he turned away, Blair almost emptied his glass in one mouthful. Blinking hard, he forced himself into movement. 'Come and sit down.' He led Jim back into the living room and took up a position on the couch. Jim glanced around and sat in one of the two chairs, facing Blair. 

'That's for you.' 

'What? Oh, this?' Blair took a deep breath, put his glass down and lifted up the package. It was wrapped in a simple blue paper covered with a delicious texture that discouraged him from opening it immediately. Without bidding, he could see Jim standing in the store, testing each gift wrap until he found the one he liked most, along with ribbon that felt like silk. That Jim had put so much thought into this settled him a lot, allowing him to look up with a little smile before he pulled on the ribbon and the knot came undone. 

There was no tape holding it together, so the moment he got the ribbon clear, the paper slipped apart, revealing an ancient book, hard covered in leather, dotted with the stains of age. Frowning a little, he opened it and what he read there made him gasp in shock. _Arabian Nights_ translated by Sir Richard Burton. First edition copy. 

For a moment, he was utterly speechless. Then, 'Jim ... man, this is... incredible! I didn't even know these still existed. Must have cost you a fortune! How did you find it?' 

Jim unsuccessfully hid a smile of pleasure. He glanced away, feigning nonchalance. 'Did a little research. Wasn't too hard. Just wanted you to have something, you know, that meant something.' 

Now Blair really _was_ speechless. He sat in silence, the book in his hands, as Jim stood restlessly, shoved his hands into his pockets and wandered around the room, pretending to look at Ellie's bookcases, at pictures on the walls, at the parts of Blair's life he'd been excluded from. 

'Megan told you?' Blair murmured into the uncomfortable silence. 

'Yep.' 

Once, a few months ago, Blair would have countered by telling Jim that Megan shouldn't have said anything. Now though, he looked back down at the book, smoothing his hands over it, feeling the places perhaps Burton himself had touched. Calm now, he put the book back on the table, lifted his glass and emptied it. He stood to find Jim watching him, then look away as though he hadn't been. 

'Well,' Jim resumed, as though nothing important had been said, 'I just thought I'd come by and pass on my congratulations. Give you that. It's late, I should get going.' 

He was almost at the door, when Blair finally moved. 'Don't go.' 

Jim stopped but didn't turn around. His shoulders were stiff and immobile. Blair could hear his breathing suddenly harsh and equally stiff into the silence. 'You don't want me here, Chief. I'm not a part of your life any more. If I stay ...' 

Blair moved up closer, stopped behind Jim's left shoulder, heart thudding again. 

Jim turned a little, 'If I stay, I'll end up spending the night and you know it.' 

Blair pulled in a short breath. His insides twisted in terror, anticipation and a wanting he couldn't begin to address. His wish came out only as a whisper. 'But what if I want you to spend the night.' 

Jim closed his eyes a moment, then turned and faced Blair squarely. Slowly, his hand reached up to brush a thumb over Blair's cheek. He shook his head slightly, a faint frown forming. 'Haven't we gone past that? Isn't it too late?' 

His skin sizzling at Jim's touch, Blair replied, 'Do you want to stay?' 

Jim's gaze slid over his face in a caress of infinite tenderness until it came to rest at his mouth. Slowly he bent his head, as though he was about to kiss Blair, as though it was suddenly the most important thing in the world to him. Heat flared between them - but Jim stopped, paused there, then moved back a little, his gaze holding Blair's for so long he thought they'd both turned to stone. 

Jim hadn't answered his question. Instead, he asked one of his own. ' _Do_ you want me to stay?' 

They were standing so close, so inside each other's space, so near and yet, not touching at all. An overwhelming flood of longing swept over Blair then, every part of him missing the man who stood before him, missing the months they'd been apart. Missing the friendship that hadn't been strong enough to withstand death. Missing the path they might have taken if it hadn't been for Alex Barnes. 

It wasn't a question of whether he _wanted_ Jim to stay. It never had been. 

'I was right,' Jim murmured, moving away a little more, his face falling with every second. 'It _is_ too late. Even for this.' 

'Jim-' 

'Don't,' Jim held up a hand, shaking his head, his gaze tender for a moment, before closing in completely. He took in a breath and straightened up. Meeting Blair's gaze again, he said, 'Goodbye, Blair.' 

And then he was gone. 

End Part Two 

* * *

Part Three 

Jim shut the book, rested his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. Images swirled in his mind of the closing chapters, and he simply let them wash over him. Not the kind of thing he'd have found himself reading say, a year ago, but in reality, perhaps he should have. It was a world he'd never contemplated before, at least, not in relation to his own life. A story of love, fear, retribution and tenderness. A story about two men. Two men in love. 

A story. A fiction. With a happy ending no less. Exactly the kind of thing that didn't happen in reality. And it didn't help that the delicately-worded sex scenes, both coy and at the same time, vivid, held an erotic undertone that had made him hard. 

He'd been shocked to say the least. Sex was sex. With women, there had been passion, the depths of love and many stages in between. All he'd ever known of male sex had been the in-your-face rutting he'd been exposed to in Vice, or the occasional newspaper article about some gay celebrity, cops who had to clear out public bathrooms from time to time and the pathetic waste of gay bashings. And of course, the almost infinite supply of gay porn, both in adult stores, and on the internet. It was sex. Fucking. Two (or more) men just wanting to get off. Using each other. The partner being a body with a cock and an ass, nothing more. Young men with overwhelming quantities of testosterone pumping through their pumped bodies, desperately needing to couple with something. 

Oh, sure, he'd met gay couples from time to time, both men and women. People involved in serious relationships - but hey, you don't get to see the reality when you're just talking to people at a cocktail party. Gay sex had always meant just that - sex. It had always been more than enough to turn him off it completely. Being straight, it didn't matter any way, did it? 

Only, he no longer had any real idea of what that meant any more. Not that he bought into that crap about everybody being basically bi, and if he was sure about anything at all, it was that sexuality had nothing to do with that idiotic label of 'lifestyle choice'. Would anybody, sane or otherwise, _choose_ a life where they could get beaten to a pulp because of who they fucked? 

It had nothing to do with choice. And though he was sure there were plenty of men out there living a straight life, controlling how they expressed their gay desires, that didn't mean they could control _being_ what they were. Control wasn't an issue. It never had been. 

Jim sat up, put the book on the table and got to his feet. He'd been reading all afternoon, buried in a book that gave him neither hope nor understanding of what he was feeling. He wished he hadn't bothered. 

He stretched, hearing his spine crack back into place, then picked up his keys and headed downstairs to pick up the mail. It was another nice day outside. He should change and go for a run, make the most of the good weather while it lasted. 

Or maybe he could drop by Blair's place. See if he was home. See if they could maybe just talk. Talk about the book even, or, or see if there was some way, _any_ way they could change things and at least stay friends. 

But even as he toyed with the thought, he knew it was impossible. It had been six weeks since he'd stopped by last time. Six weeks. Blair was never coming home, was never going to forgive him. And why should he, since Jim had never forgiven himself. 

He opened the mailbox and pulled out a handful of junk mail, two periodicals, the phone bill, a postcard from Rafe on holiday in Crete - and a handmade envelope of the same paper he'd used to wrap Blair's gift. 

For a moment, his heart actually stopped. Then, gritting his teeth, he shoved the envelope to the bottom of the pile and headed back upstairs. He dumped the mail on the table, flew upstairs and changed into running gear. He paused in the living room long enough to grab his keys then headed out for the promised run. Whatever the bad news was, he knew he could wait to hear it. 

He headed out down Prospect, turning off as soon as he could to avoid the worst of the traffic smell. Deliberately choosing roads he rarely ran, he made his way towards the waterfront, feeling the warmth of sun on his face, the pleasure of making his body work hard, of feeling it want to work. This was the only way he could feel control now, so he pushed it, sprinting for a hundred yards, then slowing to a jog. Sprinting again and again, he made it down to the promenade. There were people everywhere, enjoying the summer afternoon. He jogged past them all, heading for the park by the beach where he finally came to a halt and sat on the retainer wall, stretching his calves and letting his breathing calm. 

Small waves crashed in gentle succession, giving children plenty of time to run in and out. Pockets of families stretched along the sand, laughing, playing, eating, drinking, living happy normal lives. 

He had sweat running down his face and lifted his shoulder to wipe it away with his sleeve - and only then noticed that along with his keys, he'd picked up the blue envelope and brought it with him, running all the way here with it in his hand, unseen by hiding eyes. 

'Fuck,' he grunted to himself. He spied a trash can under a tree to his right, and for one long, delicious moment, he considered taking the envelope over there, dropping it in and running home. The only reason he didn't do it was that he knew the moment he got home, he'd only turn around and race back hoping to find it before somebody else did. 

He turned it over in his hands, recognizing Blair's handwriting, though there was no return address. He took in a deep breath, blew it out, then cracked the envelope open. Inside was a single sheet of grey parched paper. He unfolded it and almost immediately raised his eyebrows in surprise. 

It was an invitation to Blair's graduation party. At his house, day after tomorrow. 

He was inviting Jim. He _wanted_ Jim to be there. 

Jim gazed out at the ocean, let the ripple of wind coast over him, soak into him, warm him. 

Perhaps there was hope after all. Perhaps friendship would survive. 

* * *

Blair had been inundated with offers of help for the party, but he'd decided to do all the cooking himself. He'd always wanted to try catering for something this size, and he'd looked forward to the challenge - but this, this was something else. This was bigger than Ben Hur. 

Perhaps he should have just stuck with the whole barbeque and salad thing as Megan had suggested. But this was for his final graduation, and what kind of anthropologist would he be if he didn't go all out to mark this incredibly important, not to mention expensive turning point in his life with an appropriate rite-of-passage ritual - especially one involving food. 

He'd done nothing else for three days but cook - and he'd let Megan and a few others help with some of the cleaning. This morning, he'd been up at six, mowing the lawn, raking up grass and leaves, setting up the tables he'd borrowed, generally getting himself all hyped up about having everything absolutely perfect. 

He didn't know if Jim was coming. Jim hadn't sent a reply to the invitation. Jim hadn't said anything. No phone call, no email, no visit. In almost six months, they'd talked twice, seen each other once. And yet, now the day was here, Blair couldn't think about anything but Jim. 

People started arriving around three, just in time for his first course of appetizers to come out of the oven. The next two hours were a whirlwind of activity, bringing out food, getting drinks, circulating, trying to have fun - even when Megan threatened him with a mass walkout if he didn't sit down and relax for ten minutes. 

She was the only one from the PD who could come. Rafe was away on holidays, H was going to his sister's wedding, Simon had a weekend booked with his new girlfriend and Joel's wife had been unwell for the last few weeks and he hadn't wanted to leave her on her own. Still, they'd all sent cards and gifts, wishing him the best, regretting they couldn't make it. From Jim though, he'd heard nothing. 

As the afternoon wore on and Jim still hadn't arrived, Blair headed back into the kitchen to put the last dish into the oven. The desserts were already made, sitting on the counter covered in saran wrap and he had steaks and salad for later, in case the party went on into the evening. Actually, cooking up a banquet had been a good idea after all. It had kept him too busy to be looking at the clock every few minutes. 

He took the tray of curry puffs out of the fridge, put another layer of tinfoil over the top and slid them into the oven. He grabbed the most recently used dishes and stacked them in the washer, switching it on to get a head start on the cleaning. 

And then he had nothing to do. There was music playing outside, the constant rumble of voices talking, laughing, the screams of a few kids running around the yard - but in the kitchen, there was a silence beyond the absence of noise, and he felt himself slide inexorably into it. 

Jim had been right. It was too late - for anything. In an effort to gain space, they'd pushed so far apart not even this fledgling - but yet ancient - attraction could bring them back together. But what would have happened if they'd slept together that night, six weeks ago. Would one night have made the difference? Would it have bridged the gulf still separating them? It wasn't as if either of them had any experience with men - hardly the best way to try closing the rift. 

If Jim didn't come today, then Blair knew, deep down inside, that he would never see Jim again. Only now, in the silence of the kitchen, could he let himself feel the depths of that pain. 

He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the cool surface of the fridge. He had to get back in control, go out and face his guests, be the party host and celebrate achieving the ruin of his life. How could he have been so fucking stupid? How could he have been so careless as to throw away the best thing that had ever happened to him? How could Jim? 

A faint noise behind him made him stiffen, and yet he didn't move. The longed-for presence however, was utterly overwhelming. 

'I wasn't sure if I could come,' Jim began softly. 'Wasn't sure I _should_ come.' 

Blair couldn't answer that. 

'I just ... had to.' Jim paused then, as though silently hoping Blair would not turn, not make him face more than he was prepared to. When he spoke again, his words came out slowly, deliberately. 'I had no control. I needed control, but I didn't have any. I was standing outside myself, watching myself with her, hating her, hating myself for not having that control, but that didn't get it back for me. You understood.' 

Blair straightened up, suddenly trembling inside, but he didn't turn around. If he faced Jim now, the words would dry up and they both needed them too much. 

'You understood and you forgave me. How could you do that, Blair? How could you forgive me when she'd _killed_ you?' 

Silence fell again, but Blair could only hold his breath, waiting for the last. 

It came in a whisper. 'I hated you for that. For your understanding, your forgiveness, your blind, bottomless faith in me. I failed you. I got you killed, and all you could say was, the water was fine.' 

Footsteps brought the voice closer, time made the words softer, older, more withered with pain. 'Did you always love me that much?' 

A shiver rippled down Blair's spine, waking him, turning him around. Jim stood before him like a ghost in pale grey shirt and dark chinos. He carried a bottle of wine and a face full of horror and uncertainty. Blair could only reach out, placing his hand in the centre of Jim's chest, connecting with the warmth that had always been there, comforted by a strength that had never failed. 

'You never hated me, Jim. You just wished you could because that would make this so much easier. But it isn't. It never will be easy. But we'll get past it. We don't even need forgiveness.' 

'Don't we?' Jim's whisper was full of dread. 

Blair simply shook his head, patted Jim's chest. After a moment, he took in a breath. 'Come on, let's get you a drink. Megan's here, and a few other people you know. There's still plenty of food left, and at least three of my dishes you've never tried.' 

Jim didn't move for a moment, just gazed deep into Blair's eyes, the heat flaring between them once again, a heat that had been there for so long, ignored, avoided, shared and discarded. Blair smiled at him in encouragement, and eventually, Jim allowed himself to be turned to the back door, a public smile of his own hiding the raw stuff and putting it away. The door opened, and the rush of life crashed into them. 

* * *

Afternoon turned into evening. Jim sat outside on the short brick wall lining the vegetable garden lush with new growth. He was on his fifth glass of red wine, this one a bottle Megan had brought. She said it was one of Sandburg's favorites, so of course, he had to try it. 

She'd stuck close by him for the first hour or so, but without asking anything about why he was there, and what was going on between him and Blair. She neither seemed to know, nor care. She was just a friend, and she unwittingly earned his undying gratitude for that simple grace. 

She also introduced him to a couple of people she knew he'd have things in common with. Without pushing, she even got him involved in a game of volleyball at the bottom of the yard. He caught sight of Sandburg now and then, in his capacity as chef extraordinaire. They'd exchanged smiles, shrugs, even a few words - but Blair never lingered, as though he didn't dare just yet. 

Jim could only be glad of the space. He needed it. They both did. 

As the evening grew dark, some people left, a few others arrived and Blair got Megan and Jim to help him set up some garden torches which flickered and burned in the darkness, bringing in a delightful scent of lemon and summer. From nowhere, Blair brought out yet more food, this time to be barbequed and the feast began again. On the wall behind the deck, framed in black and gold was Blair's degree for all to see. Jim's gaze kept returning to it, like a herald with a dire warning. 

Jim took control of the barbeque. Blair tried to stop him, but he was adamant - and for once, Blair gave in gracefully, leaving Jim with nothing more than a smile that warmed his belly in the most incredible way. Blair couldn't come near him now without that incendiary attraction burning between them. How long had it been there? He had no way of knowing, but he was certain it wasn't new, could feel that much in his bones. 

Blair brought out the tray of meat and every part of Jim's body sprang to life. Even as Blair's hand brushed his, he struggled to control the desire to reach out and touch, to feel. 

'You don't have to do this,' Blair tried once more. 'I can manage.' 

'I know.' Jim turned away, picked up the tongs and began layering steaks onto the sizzling hotplate. 'I _want_ to do it.' 

When he glanced back up, Blair was meeting his gaze without blinking, and for a moment, the party around them vanished into silence. 'I'm glad you came.' 

Jim felt a smile creak out amongst unused facial muscles. 'Me too.' 

Blair gave him a smile in return, one of friendship, of real closeness, then turned and left him to his work. For the first time, Jim actually began to relax, and casually chatted with Blair's friends, enjoying himself, buzzed at the surprising luxury of it all. 

He'd been wrong. Very wrong. It hadn't been too late after all. 

* * *

Blair kept busy. He had so many people to catch up with, gifts to open, jokes to laugh at, drinks to pour. And he did feel like celebrating. Finally, he was no longer the penniless grad student, but a full doctor with a new job at Rainier to go to. There was plenty to keep him busy, and he needed to. If he didn't, he'd find himself standing close to Jim, unable to leave him alone. 

But it was good to have him here, to see him smiling, laughing, lightly bickering with Megan, even playing volleyball with the kids. There was something so hopelessly normal about the whole thing, especially when Jim had insisted on grilling the steaks. From the other side of the yard, Blair couldn't help watching him, relaxed, doing his thing. Playing the host. 

And Blair couldn't help making the most of the moment. If they ever got together, if they ever made it through all this and took the plunge, became a couple - this is what it would look like. This is what it would feel like. They'd have friends over, and Jim - being Jim - would insist on grilling the steaks, and Blair would take care of the other cooking, keeping their guests happy. They would share glances like this, special things meant only for each other and even surrounded by people, so far apart, they'd feel close, the distance between them merely space and nothing more. 

It had been like that before. Before Alex. He missed working at the PD with a ferocity he'd never dared voice. But more than that, he missed the dynamic of working closely with some one else, of being part of a team able to achieve incredible things. More times than he'd cared to think, he'd wondered if he should have quit Rainier and just gone to the Academy. He could have been a cop, been Jim's official partner. Helped him with his senses. 

But that would have taken them back down the same road, albeit it, a paid road. And after Alex, any chance of it working had vanished like ice on a sizzling grill. They could never go back, and even going forward had proved impossible. 

Jim seemed happy to help with the cooking, and Blair was happy to let him. But this idyll couldn't last. He couldn't relax into it, didn't have the luxury of pretending for more than a moment that this is what they could have. This moment, this was a fiction, a glimpse of something that didn't exist. If he didn't keep hold of that thought, he'd never make it through the rest of the evening. 

It was too late to take things as they were. Patience had only ever taken him so far and then forced him painfully up against things that would never move, never change. He and Jim could wander along this path forever, holding on to their space individually, letting it be the barrier it had always been, one of fear and rejection. He had to put a stop to it. There were times in life where patience would only bring pain. It was time for it to end. 

* * *

Jim served straight from the hot plate, enjoying playing a little of the host, and the compliments for his skills. It grew dark, the summer evening cooling a little, bringing a fresh scent to the air. In pairs and families, guests began to say their goodbyes and soon there were only a few people remaining, sitting quietly together on the deck, finishing their drinks. Jim sat on the edge of the group, not feeling excluded, but rather, feeling at home here, as though these academics and students were people he'd known all his life. Certainly not a world he ever thought he would be a part of. 

Blair sat with them, finally relaxing, arguing about baseball with a man Jim hadn't met. When the group burst out laughing at something he said, his gaze flickered up to Jim, and the moment froze between them before sliding away back into the conversation. That look unsettled Jim for reasons he couldn't fathom. A couple of people got up to leave, and the others took their cue. Megan and another woman began taking plates inside as more goodbyes were called out into the night air. 

Jim thought about leaving. There was a fragile balance here now. He didn't want to ruin it by sticking around and forcing Blair to deal with his uncomfortable confession. But with the ladies working with Blair in the kitchen, Jim had a few moments of grace, an excuse to linger here a little longer. 

He stood and moved to the barbeque. He unhooked it and took the tray down to the vegetable garden, pulling some old newspapers out of the shed. He spread the papers on the grass, tilted the tray over to let it drain, and sat down on the wall again, letting the quiet descend. 

He didn't want to go home. Didn't want to leave. 

It was a wonderfully clear night, though stars were hard to see with the glow of the city and the still-flickering torches lining the yard. But it was nice, having a garden, having plants and space in which to enjoy them. Maybe he should think about selling the loft and buying a house a bit further out. Perhaps on a hill overlooking the bay. Yeah. Yeah, he would. It was time to move on. Time to put the past behind him and make something new. 

'Hi.' 

Jim looked up to find Blair standing before him glancing down at the tray draining on the paper. 'Hi. Great party.' 

'Yeah, it was pretty good, wasn't it.' 

'You look tired.' 

'No shit,' Blair laughed dryly. 'That's something else I'm never doing again.' 

'What was the last thing?' 

'Defending my thesis.' Blair glanced around at the mess his guests had made of the yard, but without rancour. 'What do you think of the place?' 

'It's nice. Really nice. I like the garden.' 

'Yeah, me too.' Blair looked at him. 'I just bought it.' 

Jim blinked. 'The garden?' 

'The house. Made the down payment three days ago. Ellie's moving to France and won't be back for a few years. Decided she couldn't afford to keep this, so she sold it to me. We're moving all her stuff out into storage so I'm going furniture shopping tomorrow. Would you, um, like to come with me?' 

Jim frowned, the warmth inside him freezing into ice so quickly it left him breathless. 

Blair was never coming home. Blair had made a new life, got a new job, new friends, and would never now come back to him. 

'Jim?' 

To cover his abrupt desolation, Jim turned his head, looking up at the house. He could see the women through the kitchen window, colours inside glowing through, making the place feel like a home. Blair's home now. And Jim had been so sure this night would be the beginning of hope. That they'd breathed new life into their friendship, just as he'd done to Blair's lifeless body. Back then, they'd told him he was too late, that Blair was dead, that he couldn't be saved. Back then, Jim hadn't stopped trying until Blair breathed again. He'd known, in some place deep inside, that he simply _couldn't_ be too late to save his friend. 

'You bought it. That's great. Congratulations.' He forced the words out, tried to force a smile but his face wouldn't move. He needed to get out of here. Needed to be gone. 

He turned back to the tray, but Blair sat down beside him, thigh lightly pressing up against his, pulling up heat between them, fighting the freezing cold. Jim moved to get up, but Blair reached out, turned Jim's face towards him, leaned in close - and kissed him. Deeply. 

For a moment, Jim froze, but a half suppressed sob escaped him and he wrapped his arms around Blair, pulling him close, deepening the kiss, not letting go. There was so much warmth in Blair's mouth, so much peace, so much love in his arms. If this was goodbye, then he'd take it with him and die with it. 

But Blair wasn't letting go. Instead, Blair's arms only tugged him closer, body talking to him as much as the faint whimper that reached Jim's ears. One slow, delicious kiss became another and another until Jim was ready and willing to drown. Who would have thought that making out with another guy would turn him inside out? 

They pulled apart to pull in air, to rest their heads together, to feel the quiet. Heat flooded the air around them, and the sudden turnabout made Jim dizzy. Blair's hand came up and caressed the side of Jim's face, thumb tracing his mouth, making Jim hard. 'Stay with me.' 

'Stay?' Jim looked up, able to see Blair clearly in the golden torchlight. 

'Spend the night with me.' Blair met his gaze for a moment, then let him go, getting to his feet. He held out his hand and Jim could only take it, need making him tremble. Together they walked inside to find that everybody else had left, leaving them alone in the house. They wouldn't have been able to miss seeing them making out in the back yard, but Jim couldn't bring himself to care. Blair paused only long enough to lock up then took Jim's hand again, leading him to the bedroom. 

He didn't turn on any lights. Instead, he undressed Jim in the dark, feeling his way, exchanging kisses soft and luxurious. Trembling, Jim did the same, soaking up the warmth of broad shoulders, downy chest hair, a glittering nipple ring. 

They laid down together, naked bodies pouring more heat between them, filling the night with a passion Jim would have thought impossible until now, and a lust that both shocked and delighted him. Blair gasped and moaned, whispered words that made him hotter than ever, touching him in places that had always seemed so remote and lost. Giving things that only filled the space between them. 

Moving together, they pushed and thrust, every sigh, every hard plane of Blair's body reminding him that they were two men, that this was real, and that once done, they could never turn back. They kissed again, more deeply this time, closing the gap until there was no space between them at all, and together, as one, they crashed over the edge, falling and falling until they landed in a tangled heap, the wreckage of the past gone forever. 

* * *

Jim woke to a dawn about to break. The curtains were open, leaving the slowly glowing sky bare to his eyes. Some time during the night, they'd pulled the covers over them, but their bodies were still wrapped in each other, still as close as they could be. 

Now he knew. Now he had felt it himself. Now he could see why so many people didn't bother trying to control their sexuality. This was a reward so rich it was impossible to calculate. This was why control was nothing more than a fallacy used to make people hide. As he had hidden for so long. 

Blair shifted a little, waking enough to press a kiss against Jim's shoulder. Jim turned, gathering him close, pressing a leg between Blair's, embracing his masculinity. 

'Talk to me, Jim,' Blair murmured, voice rough with sleep, but mind very much awake. 

Jim nodded but said nothing for a moment, just keeping his eyes on the morning sky of vivid, electric blue. It was a real sky, not dimmed by lights or stars, or smog. There was more space out there than anyone, even Sandburg could possibly imagine. 

'You died.' 

Blair's head lifted slowly, hair falling away from his face until he could see Jim. His hand came up and cradled Jim's jaw before Blair leaned in for a soft kiss. 'Yes, I died.' 

Jim's eyes filled, but he couldn't move, couldn't take his eyes from Blair. 'I love you.' 

'Yeah, you do.' Blair kissed him again, pulling Jim close, ignoring the tears, only paying attention to filling the space between them. They made love again, slowly, completely, caressing only a little, letting passion do all the work until they were breathless and exhausted once more, sticky, sore and at peace. 

After a few minutes, Blair rolled over a little so he too could gaze up at the dawn. He pushed his hair back, cleaned himself off with a corner of sheet and scrunched up his nose. 'I need a shower. So do you.' 

Jim couldn't speak. Words were beyond him. 

Blair continued, his voice low and glowing, intimate and close. 'We could book a truck at that place on 23rd. Tim and Stan aren't doing anything tomorrow so if we get a start on packing today, we could get Ellie's things into storage and your bed and clothes in here by tomorrow night. We could pack your place up during the week, after work. Unless you're doing night shift or something. In that case, you could pack during the day and I could come by at night. I could pick up some food on the way over and we could eat. Or not. We'd have a couple of hours together at least, wouldn't we?' 

Blair shifted a little, settling in, letting out a soft, contented sigh. 'I know you won't want to live here with a whole bunch of foreign dust bunnies so I'll get a cleaning service in. That way, we'll have the whole of next weekend to get the rest of your stuff moved in and unpacked. When we know how much room we've got left, we can decide what other furniture we need." He paused and laughed a little, 'This place is twice the size of the loft, so we shouldn't have any trouble with space, should we?' 

Jim wiped the moisture from his face and gathered himself. In the silence, his tumbling emotions finally came to rest. Blair turned to look up at him with a smile and he could only shake his head, his voice betraying all that he had never said, accepting all that Blair would never need to say. 'No, Chief,' he swallowed, emerging with a smile. 'We'll have no trouble with space at all.' 

~Finis~ 

* * *

End Enough Space by Scala: scala8925@yahoo.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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